


No Teasin', Just Pleasin'

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dean in Panties, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stripper Dean, Top Castiel, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 01:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12446000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: The song is nearing its end as Dean pauses in the centre of the stage, fingers teasing at the waistband of his chaps. For the first time in his routine, he allows himself to look over towards Castiel’s table.Gabe is watching with the air of someone who’s generally more interested in the feminine figure, but Cas?Cas looks like he wants to eat Dean alive.





	No Teasin', Just Pleasin'

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on [Tumblr](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com/post/166650883624/1-11-and-51). Pretty much 100% flirting, dancing and sexy times, title taken from the slogan of an actual strip club. Enjoy!

The bass of the music thumps through Dean’s bones as he winds his way through tables and around patrons. Meg likes her music loud and bold, and so does the crowd, if the cheers and hoots are any indication. It’s a Saturday night, one of their busiest, and while security can keep the patrons under control if need be, it does mean that Dean has to take extra care to avoid any bumps that will send the precariously balanced tray of drinks tipping onto the floor.

Luckily, he makes it to the table without any mishaps, and grins as he distributes his tray of cocktails among the bachelorette party. Many of the women at this table look to be at least slightly intoxicated, and while several of them are hollering at Meg where she is performing onstage, one or two of them definitely take an interest in Dean’s bare chest and matching golden shorts and bowtie.

While he knew he’d be signing up for evenings of getting ogled by men and women alike when he handed in his resume, and accepts it as part of the job, he draws the line at unsolicited touching. When red nails scrape lightly over his chest, Dean jumps and skitters away a few steps, forcing an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, ma’am. No touching the wait staff. I know it’s tempting.”

It’s not a rule like it is with the private dances, but Ellen doesn’t like any of her staff being touched without their consent. The owner of the red fingernails pouts at Dean and flutters long, dark lashes, but seems to relent in her attempted persuasion when he throws her a placating wink.

“Come find me again when you get off, handsome,” she calls at his retreating back.

 _Not likely_ , Dean thinks to himself, the woman’s gaze boring holes into the back of his gold booty shorts. He gets so many offers like that each night that it’d take someone really special to make him even consider accepting.

The next hour passes relatively quickly, as the club begins to wind down. It’s still busy, but they close in just under two hours. The later it gets, the more excited Dean becomes, and he watches the dancers onstage with every spare second he can find. He’s still learning, as a new employee, so he gets one dance towards the end of the night to get a feel for stripping in front of an audience. He’s done it a handful of times already, and knows that the rush is heady, unbelievable.

He can’t fucking wait.

Dean is bussing the slowly emptying tables by the front entrance and checking the clock when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees two men enter.

“Why are we at a strip club?”

The voice is low and rumbling and holds more than a hint of confusion. It’s enough to draw Dean’s attention, and he turns his head to look at the two men.

He’s not sure which one spoke, but if he had to pick, he would put his money on the tall, tousle-haired man with eyes that are piercingly blue even in the dim light of the club. The man is frowning up at the stage where Bela is gripping the pole with just her thighs and directing a sultry gaze towards the crowd – his companion, in contrast, is outright leering, and jabs an elbow into the taller man’s ribs.

“Come on, Cassie, lighten up! I may be gettin’ married soon, but that doesn’t mean I can’t _peruse_.” There’s a wicked upward curve to his lips as he watches Bela, whereas the taller man simply looks exasperated. Dean is just close enough to hear him mutter, “Kali’s going to kill you if she finds out about this.”

At this point, Dean remembers that he is in fact an employee, and isn’t getting paid simply to stand around and stare at attractive men with blue eyes and dark hair and – now that he’s closer – a dusting of shadowed stubble across his jaw.

“Hey there, can I get you a table?” he asks, giving the two his most winning smile and trying to ignore the fact that he feels so, _so_ naked now, dressed in just his shorts.

His question catches the attention of the two men, and while he was somewhat expecting the shorter man to leer at him, he certainly isn’t expecting the blue-eyed man’s gaze to sharpen with interest, and his tongue to dart out and wet his lips.

 _Interesting_.

“You certainly can,” the shorter man crows, hooking his arm around his companion’s elbow and pulling him further into the club. “As close to the stage as you can get us, kind sir.”

“Gabe, I don’t have time for this,” the taller man (Cassie?) mutters as Dean leads them through the club to a small, unoccupied table reasonably close to the stage. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“You work too damn hard, Cassie,” Gabe points out as they take their seats at the table, and Dean has to try really hard not to stare at the chiseled, stubbled jaw as he hands them both a drinks menu. “At least let me buy you a private dance with someone. God knows you haven’t gotten laid in long enough.”

“Gabriel!” Cassie hisses, his cheeks turning pink under the glow of the stage lights. Dean can’t help the spike of jealousy at the thought of one of his co-workers being the one to dance for this man, and laments the fact the he’s still too new and inexperienced to be giving private dances.

Instead, he forces a smile and cocks his hip, putting on his most charming smile. “Handsome man like you? I’m sure our dancers will be falling over themselves to dance for you.”

The man had been trying very hard not to look at Dean in all his half-naked and golden, shimmering glory, but now his gaze snaps up to Dean’s face, all pretense of focusing on the menu forgotten. Dean finds himself caught in that blue, entrapped in a gaze that is equal parts wide-eyed confusion and meticulous calculation.

Gabe just watches the staring match from his chair, chin tucked into his hands and a shit-eating grin on his face.

Finally, Cassie speaks.

“Are you – are you flirting with me?”

Jesus _Christ_ , this guy is dense. Dean has to suppress the amused eye roll and instead laughs and winks at the man. “Yeah, trying to, Cassie. Is it working?”

Surprisingly, Cassie flushes an even brighter shade of pink. He shifts in his seat, there’s a muffled thump under the table, and Gabe grunts in pain as Cassie turns his attention back to Dean.

“I – uh… Yes, it is working. But my name is not Cassie, it’s Castiel. ‘Cassie’ is my brother’s inane nickname for me.”

Castiel.

The name sends a shiver down Dean’s spine, and he bites down on his bottom lip.

“Castiel, huh? Well, my name’s Dean. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Gabriel, in case anyone was wondering,” Gabe mutters to himself on the other side of the table, still rubbing at his injured shin. Neither Dean nor Castiel pay him any attention.

Castiel sets down his menu and lifts a hand to loosen his blue tie in a casual, effortless way that has Dean’s shorts going far too tight. He wrenches his gaze away from those capable hands and instead lifts it to Castiel’s eyes; what with the intensity and heat of that blue gaze, it doesn’t do much to help matters.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, as though he’s rolling the name over his tongue, experimenting with the sound of it, the weight of it in his mouth. “Do you give private dances, Dean?”

If only Castiel had turned up maybe two weeks later, once Dean had been able to prove that he was a good performer if not the most gifted dancer, once Dean had been allowed to give private dances to put a little more money in his pocket.

Though his heart sinks, he forces his smile to stay in place. He can’t help if it becomes a little rueful. “I don’t, unfortunately. Sorry.”

It’s the briefest of emotions, but for a second, Dean swears that Castiel looks crestfallen, disappointed. He could have very easily been imagining things, but… Cas clears his throat, and won’t even look at him now, gaze fixed on the table and fingertips picking at the edge of a cardboard coaster. “In that case, I won’t be requiring a –“

“I get off work after my performance.”

While he’s only been working here a short while, he’s received plenty of propositions. He’s never said yes to one, and he’s certainly never offered of his own volition. He feels his own eyes go wide at the thinly veiled suggestion; Castiel’s head snaps up, and his expression mirrors Dean’s own, his lips parted slightly with shock. Slowly, Cas nods, and Dean feels his breath catch in his throat at the dark promise in Castiel’s eyes.

“After your performance, then,” Castiel says, dragging each syllable out and watching Dean as though he wants to eat him alive. “I look forward to it.”

Dean can hear someone calling his name; as loathe as he is to leave the sudden gravitational pull that is surrounding Cas, he really does have to go. “Yeah,” he breathes, trying hard to think of things that aren’t the sex-voiced man in front of him. The golden shorts don’t hide very much. “I, uh. I’ve gotta go. If you want drinks, I’ll get someone to come serve you.”

Before whoever’s calling him can come out onto the floor and drag him off themselves, Dean drags himself away, nearly tripping over his own feet with how distracted he is. He needs to pull himself together.

He flags down Casey before heading backstage, pointing out the two men near the stage. They’re talking, Gabe still grinning as he likely teases Castiel, but Cas is still watching Dean with that intense gaze that sends a shiver down his spine. Dean tears his gaze away and leaves Casey to look after them, disappearing behind the employee-only door near the stage.

Ellen just raises an eyebrow at him and waves him along to the change rooms. He hasn’t left himself much time, and rushes to change into the costume that’s hanging by his locker. The usual pre-performance excitement is compounded by the knowledge that Cas is out there; Cas with the voice like whiskey and gravel, the hair that looks electrically charged, the eyes that almost pierce through to his soul.

Bela gives him a high five and a slap on the ass as she comes offstage, and then the lights are dimming right down and before he really knows what’s happening, his hand is lifting the wooden chair and his legs are carrying him onstage.

The routine is a pretty clichéd one, but Dean couldn’t care less – he’s getting the opportunity to perform, to show off in front of an audience, to indulge in a little tame exhibitionism. Besides, once he’s a proper stripper, not just a trainee, he’ll be able to come up with better routines of his own.

He sets his chair down side on to the audience and straddles it backwards. Takes a deep breath in. Out. Waits for the music to start.

The bass vibrates through him, and he rocks his torso to the beat as the lights come up around him. The crowd cheers, screams, and Dean throws a grin at them. Tips his cowboy hat to a girl near the front of the stage, who looks about to faint. Most of the people still in the club are pretty wasted by this point; an easy audience. He grinds against the chair, one hand gripping the back of it as though he’s riding a bull, then swings off it with a careless, easy grace.

He’s not the best dancer, he knows, but what he lacks in technique and experience, he definitely makes up for in charm and confidence. His hips continue to move as he slowly unbuttons his checked shirt, grinding and thrusting into the air until he reaches the last button and the shirt falls open. If possible, the screaming of the crowd grows even louder as Dean saunters across the stage with his bow-legged walk, running his hands down the strip of his torso that’s been exposed.

With a flick of his shoulders, he shrugs the shirt off; it gets tossed into the crowd.

_If you’re horny, let’s do it,_

_Ride it, my pony._

The lyrics (though repetitive) mark the beginning of his actual choreography, and after that his mind is pulled in two directions; focus on getting the moves right, and make sure he’s flirting with the crowd. There’s no room for thinking about Cas, not right now, as he moves across the stage, and the whole routine passes in a blur.

The song is nearing its end as Dean pauses in the centre of the stage, fingers teasing at the waistband of his chaps. For the first time in his routine, he allows himself to look over towards Castiel’s table.

Gabe is watching with the air of someone who’s generally more interested in the feminine figure, but Cas?

Cas looks like he wants to eat Dean alive.

He winks at the man, and just has time to see blue eyes widen before he’s tightening his grip on his chaps and tearing them off his legs.

He’s ended it with a bang, his chest heaving with exertion and a huge grin on his face as he stands there in a cowboy hat and boots, and sparkling gold thong to match his earlier uniform. The crowd by the stage is screaming and waving dollar bills that he’s not yet allowed to accept. Beyond that, he sees Gabriel stand and clap Castiel on the shoulder. They exchange a few words, and then Gabe is leaving, and Cas turns his heavy blue gaze back onto Dean.

Dean needs to get the hell off the stage, and not just so that the next performer can come on. He takes a small bow and backs offstage, making a beeline back to his locker. The thong is dropped into a box to be washed, the hat set aside to be collected later. He manages to change in record time, pulling on a pair of boxer briefs beneath his jeans and shrugging on a simple black t-shirt before grabbing his bag and heading back out onto the floor.

Cas is already waiting for him by the exit, attempting to look casual but failing when he immediately picks Dean out of the crowd, his gaze sharp and dark with intent. “Impatient, huh?” he teases as he gets close enough. Castiel rolls his eyes – though the faint flush that Dean can just pick out in the dim lighting of the club betrays his true response.

“Possibly a little,” Cas mutters, long fingers toying absently with the cuff of his tan trench coat. “Do you have a car? Gabriel drove me here and, since I’m ‘getting lucky’, saw fit to abandon me.”

Dean is about to reassure him that yes, he has a car, and would be more than happy to drive Castiel back to his place in it, when Cas freezes, his eyes going wide as he searches Dean’s face. “I, uh. I did read that situation correctly, did I not? Your offer was a proposition for sex?”

Goddamn, but this guy does not beat around the bush. Dean chokes out a shocked laugh at Cas’s bluntness and nods. “Yes, Cas, I want to have sex with you. Do I have to make it clearer than that?” He grins, wide and bright, backing away towards the club’s entrance. “Come on, man, I’d like to get laid _sometime_ tonight, quit dragging your feet.”

In a flash, Castiel is beside him, his strides so long and purposeful that Dean has to scurry to catch up with him. The night air is cool and crisp and quiet compared to the atmosphere of sweat and alcohol inside the club – blissfully free of screaming women and cheering men. It’s refreshing, and helps to clear Dean’s head as he leads Cas over to where he’s parked the Impala.

From the way Cas is watching him, sharp-eyed and near-predatory, Dean figures that the man has other things on his mind and so forgives him for not noticing how beautiful his car is. He’s gotta admit, he’s a little distracted too, and if he goes a few miles over the speed limit on the way back to his apartment? That’s between him and Cas and the near-emptiness of the roads at this time of night.

They’d been making small talk as they drove, made somewhat stilted by the desperate desire to be somewhere private when they’re stuck in a car, but as they make their way up to Dean’s apartment, Cas asks him a question.

“Dean? Why did you say you don’t do private dances?”

Dean pauses by the door of his apartment, his fingers shifting through the keys on his keyring as he glances back at Cas. Without looking, he selects the correct one, but doesn’t unlock his door just yet.

“I’m still just a trainee,” he explains with a one-shouldered shrug. “I get one dance a night with predetermined choreography. Until Ellen thinks I’m good enough to be a proper stripper, I can’t do private dances.”

He can’t help but wink at Cas, his lips curling upwards into a smirk. “I’ve been practicing, though.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from behind him, but Dean is already turning, fitting the key into the lock on his front door and pushing his way into the darkness of his apartment. He flips a few lights on, illuminating the place. It’s not much, but he should be able to find something better or at least clean the place up a little once he becomes a fully-fledged employee.

“Home, sweet home,” he says to Cas, who closes the door behind himself as Dean drops his bag onto his small kitchen table.

“You have… a nice apartment,” Castiel says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in the doorway as he looks around. It’s obvious that he’s a little uncertain, unsure of what to say or how to act, and Dean can’t help but chuckle fondly.

“You don’t have to say stuff like that, Cas, relax. You don’t do this very often, huh?”

The man bites his lip and shakes his head slightly; while Dean can still see his arousal simmering just below the surface, it’s tempered by nervousness. That’s not a problem, though. Dean will easily be able to fix that.

“How about you take a seat,” he says, pulling out a wooden chair from his table and flipping it so that it faces outwards. Cas’s eyes darken, and Dean doesn’t doubt that he’s remembering the way that Dean had moved on the chair in his performance, all rolling hips and grinding, sinful movements.

Dean throws him a wink and a “be right back,” leaving Castiel alone in the living room space to let his mind wander. He’s been dying to have someone to practice his routines on, and if this leads to a hot round of sex with an even hotter man? Dean is definitely not going to protest.

It takes him barely a minute to change his outfit up a little and find the remote to his stereo. The rest of his apartment may need a little fixing up, but he hadn’t been able to resist splurging on the surround-sound system that makes it awesome to watch movies and even better to practice his dancing.

He pockets the remote and heads back out to the lounge room. His bare feet are near-silent on the cheap carpet, but as soon as he steps through the doorway, Cas’s head snaps up. The man looks a little more relaxed now, with his tan trench coat draped over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. When he sees Dean, though, loose-limbed relaxation becomes a tightly coiled spring, and the man leans forward slightly in the chair as Dean cocks a hip. “Still want that private dance, Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes darken into twin thunderstorms, and his tongue slides out to wet his bottom lip. “Yes,” he rumbles, his voice low and gravelly as he watches Dean with all the intent of a predator stalking their prey.

But Dean is undoubtedly the one with the power here, in this moment, and they both know it. He smirks as he pulls out the small remote, presses play on the song he has queued up, and sets it aside.

The first few seconds of silence almost vibrate with tension, and then –

_Dirty, rotten, filthy, stinkin’…_

The opening chords blast out of the surrounding speakers and Dean grins, wide and flirtatious. His hands come up, fingers raking through his own hair and then sliding down his own torso, still clad in a black t-shirt. Castiel watches their journey hungrily, even though they’re still half a room apart, and Dean revels in the attention, in the high of showing off and being wanted. This, he can do.

_She’s my cherry pie,_

_Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise,_

_Taste so good make a grown man cry,_

_Sweet cherry pie._

Dean swivels his hips to the beat and bites his lip, his hands dragging over his abs and teasing at the hem of his t-shirt. Cas has already seen him nearly naked, wearing nothing but a thong up onstage, but he still watches Dean like a parched man, desperate for any flash of skin, every movement of Dean’s body.

He wonders if dancing like this would feel just as exhilarating with anybody seated in the chair opposite him, or if it’s just Cas.

The neighbours must be able to hear the guitar riffs, and he might end up with some noise complaints after this, but Dean honestly doesn’t give a fuck as he slowly stalks towards Cas, stopping a few feet away. There’s a muscle jumping in Castiel’s jaw as Dean drags his hand up his torso and brings his t-shirt with it, as though the only thing holding him in the chair is sheer willpower.

When Dean curls his fingers around the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up over his head, he can hear Cas groan over the music. He can’t help but grin and flex his muscles as he tosses the t-shirt aside, thanking the day shifts he pulls at his local garage for his physique.

Cas’s fingers tighten into fists on his thighs as Dean swings his hips, teasing Cas with his proximity as his fingers edge along the waistband of his jeans and toy with the button. He’s improvising a little with the song now, caught up in the moment and the feeling of Cas’s gaze on his skin, watching every single movement. Instead of carrying on with the routine he’d planned out, he steps closer to Cas, who immediately splays his knees wider to make room for Dean.

When Dean pops the button on his jeans and begins to slowly unzip his fly, he’s pretty sure Cas stops breathing.

Dean’s hips continue to swing along with the beat as he slowly shimmies out of the jeans, and when Cas sees the pair of black lace panties hidden beneath shielding denim, his nails dig into the fabric of his slacks, knuckles going white. It’s thrilling to see just how much he can affect Cas, even though the man has seen all this before, and Dean grins as he straddles Castiel’s lap.

“You like them, huh?” he asks, voice breathless and pitched loud enough to be heard over the music. Cas drags his gaze up from where Dean’s erection is straining against black lace; his throat bobs, and he nods. “Very much so.”

Dean hums to himself as he drapes his arms over Castiel’s shoulders, bringing them closer together. When he rolls his hips against Cas’s, his lace-clad cock grinding against the prominent bulge in the man’s slacks, Cas actually groans, and Dean can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes him.

“You know,” he says, still moving in Cas’s lap, “I’ll break the rules for you this once, if you want to touch.”

The words are barely even out of Dean’s mouth before Cas is reacting, his hands uncurling from their tense position on his thighs; one comes up to grip Dean’s ass, and the other winds its way into his hair. Dean gasps at the unexpected tug to his scalp, but the sound is quickly muffled by the hard press of lips against his own, and quickly morphs into a moan.

Cas kisses with intent, all claiming sweeps of tongue and hard bites to Dean’s bottom lip. It’s becoming increasingly hard for Dean to remember how to function, especially when he can feel the heat of Castiel’s palm on his ass cheek through thin lace, guiding the movement of his hips in their dirty grind.

By the time they pull apart, the song is ending, and the last chord fades into silence as Dean tries to catch his breath. His bare chest heaves with exertion as he stares down at Cas, eyes wide and a flush high on his cheeks. Cas, for his part, looks rather proud of himself, what with the slightly smug curl of his lips and the lust-blown darkness of his eyes. “I think I quite enjoy kissing you,” he states, and Dean is satisfied to find that his voice is just breathless as Dean’s would be right now.

Dean just grins and ducks his head for more. This time, without the music, he can hear every one of Castiel’s muffled groans and gasps. It’s wonderful, heavenly, to just sit here in Cas’s lap and kiss him, but by the time they break apart the second time, Dean is all too aware of the insistent arousal pooling in his gut and the rasp of lace over his straining erection. Cas seems aware of that too, his hand sliding from Dean’s ass to his hip, thumb brushing over the lace waistband but not quite touching Dean’s cock – it’s incredibly frustrating.

“Cas,” he growls, his fingers curling into the white fabric covering his shoulders and rocking his hips, trying to get some friction if Castiel won’t touch him. The corner of the man’s lips just lifts in a smirk, and he raises one eyebrow. “Was there something you wanted, Dean?”

Fucking hell, does he want Dean to beg for it? He will, if he has to – it might be a possibility, one he hadn’t expected when Castiel had walked in the door with his confused expression but one that he really should have suspected after the way Castiel had watched him dance, all dark eyes and barely bridled want.

Dean grinds his hips in Castiel’s lap and grins at the sharp intake of breath and the tightening of the fingers around his hips.

“I want you to fuck me, _Cas_.”

The reaction is almost instantaneous. Cas’s hands come down to cup his ass and the next thing Dean knows, he’s being lifted into the air. He absolutely does _not_ squeak as he wraps his arms and legs around Cas’s shoulders and waist, and raises his eyebrows at Cas. “Couldn’t have given me a warning there, Casanova?” he grumbles, but Cas just chuckles and squeezes Dean’s ass as he carries him down the hall and through the open door of his room, eliciting a soft groan.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Cas teases as he sets Dean down on the edge of the bed. “I can’t let you be the only tease. Besides, can you blame me for being impatient?”

And that’s a fair point. If Cas had been the one dancing and taking his clothes off… Dean isn’t sure he would’ve held out this long. Still, he can’t resist leaning back on his hands and grinning at the other man, and doesn’t miss the way that Castiel’s eyes rake over the exposed lines of his torso. “I guess you’re right. But if you’re so impatient, why are you still dressed?”

Castiel’s gaze flicks back up to meet Dean’s, and he grins. It takes Dean a little by surprise – wide and gummy and amused. “I’ll fix that, then,” he promises, and then strong hands are coming up to loosen his blue tie. The deft actions of those long fingers send Dean’s thoughts spiraling in a distracting direction, and he has to force himself to pay attention; he doesn’t want to miss any of this.

The blue tie slips from Cas’s fingers to pool on the ground; the man is already unbuttoning his shirt, slowly and methodically. Dean drinks in every inch of tanned skin as it’s exposed to him from where he’s sprawled back on the bed, and almost groans out loud when the shirt is shrugged off Cas’s shoulders. He’s tanned and more buff than Dean had expected, considering the boxiness of the trench coat. God damn.

Cas is quick to pull off his shoes and socks, and next to go are the pants. Cas is definitely teasing him now, taking a page out of Dean’s book as his fingertips skim over the waistband of his slacks. This time, Dean does groan, but in frustration instead of arousal. “Come _on_ , Cas.”

The fucker smirks, but at least he gives in, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks. They’re pulled down in one swift motion, along with his boxer briefs – Dean is the teasing stripper, but Cas is straight to the point, and the sight of Cas completely naked, all tanned skin and strong muscles and long, thick cock curving up towards his stomach, is enough to make Dean’s mouth go dry.

“Holy shit,” he hears himself say, and there’s Cas’s gummy smile again.

“If you think I’m worthy of a ‘holy shit’, you evidently haven’t looked in the mirror recently,” Cas quips, gesturing with one hand to where Dean is still sprawled out on the bed, clad only in black lace. He feels himself blush. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, wiggling his hips – he invited Cas over for sex, not to be told how beautiful he is. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

And _that_ has Castiel’s eyes darkening, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Cas is a leashed storm, ready to escape its bonds, and when Dean bites his bottom lip and winks, the tethers snap. All of a sudden, there are warm hands on his skin, the solid weight of Cas’s body atop his own, the insistent and claiming press of teeth and tongue. It’s all Dean can do to moan and hold on under the onslaught, gasping into the kiss and rutting his hips up against Cas in search of any kind of friction, anything he can get.

Cas keeps himself teasingly out of reach, though, and Dean whimpers as they break apart. He can feel the dampness of the lace over the head of his cock; Cas, for his part, just grins, running his palm down Dean’s chest and stopping just shy of the waistband of the panties. For _fuck’s_ sake.

Everything feels like too much sensation over his skin; the lace, the sheets beneath him, Cas’s hand splayed out over his abdomen. That doesn’t stop Dean from arching up into it, his gaze fixated on the deep blue of Cas’s eyes that flick across his body as though he isn’t sure where to start first. And sure, if they had more time, Dean wouldn’t mind taking it slower, trying out a couple of different things.

As it is, though, Dean has had a long evening of work, and it’s getting very late. Not that he wants this encounter to be over in a hurry, but it definitely wouldn’t be sexy if he fell asleep in the middle of things.

Luckily, Cas seems to come to the same conclusion. “Do you have condoms and lubrication?” he asks as he settles his hand over Dean’s straining erection and rubs lazily at it through the lace. Dean’s brain short-circuits for a handful of seconds, his back arching up off the bed and a groan falling from his lips; it takes him a little longer to be able to formulate a response.

“Nightstand, second drawer down,” he gasps out, his body going lax against the bed as Cas withdraws his hand. In Castiel’s temporary and distracted absence, Dean manages to coordinate his limbs enough to drag himself up onto his knees and elbows. The soft gasp he hears from behind him marks the second that Cas turns and sees him presented on the mattress, and he turns to grin lazily at the other man. “What, you just gonna stand there?” Dean teases, raising an eyebrow at Castiel’s slightly awestruck expression and wiggling his hips invitingly in the air.

The gasp becomes a quiet groan, and then the bed is dipping behind him as Cas kneels, and there are fingers pulling at the waistband of his panties until it’s tucked under the swell of his ass, leaving him exposed. Firm hands grab his cheeks, massaging flesh and muscle, and Dean drops his head and moans his anticipation into the sheets.

The cap of the lube clicks somewhere behind him, and then Dean feels a slick finger brush over his hole. He can’t help but shiver, and lets out a soft gasp at the kiss Cas places onto the small of his back as the finger slides in with little resistance.

What with all the sparks that had flown between them while Dean was performing, he hadn’t expected the actual sex to be quite so… sweet. That’s not to say he doesn’t like it, though, letting out quiet, breathy whimpers as Cas tells him how beautiful and stunning and perfect he is while he opens Dean up with one finger and then two.

By the time there are three fingers stretching Dean’s ass wide, he’s writhing on the bed with his fingers curled into the sheets, moaning his pleasure into the air. Castiel is a steady presence behind him, with his hand occasionally reaching down to cup Dean’s aching cock through the lace or grip his hip but mostly just staying splayed out over the sweat-damp small of Dean’s back. It feels exquisite; a grounding rod to the electricity sparking through Dean’s body as he rides back on the fingers inside him.

“Cas, please,” he whimpers as skillful fingers rub over his prostate, nearly trembling with the intensity of it all. Dean can hear Cas chuckle, low and amused, but he takes pity on Dean and pulls his fingers out. Without them, Dean feels empty, his rim trying to close around nothing as he attempts to get his breath back in heaving gulps. “Shh, Dean,” Cas whispers, sliding his clean hand up Dean’s spine. The mattress shifts and dips as Castiel moves, his hands guiding Dean over until he’s splayed out on his back.

In the dim lighting of Dean’s bedroom, Cas’s eyes are blue and bright and wide as he gazes down at Dean. He knows that he’s flushed and damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his temples, but right now he couldn’t care less – he just wants Cas _in him_.

“Condom,” he growls, relishing the way Castiel’s eyes go dark. While Cas is retrieving a foil-wrapped condom from the box and tearing it open, Dean wriggles out of his lace panties and tosses them off the side of the bed. Once the condom is rolled down over Cas’s length, Dean wastes no time in sliding a hand into messy, dark hair and tugging Castiel roughly down for a kiss. It’s a demanding kiss of teeth and tongue and Dean moans into Cas’s mouth, thoroughly lost in the sensation.

Which is why it comes as a surprise when Cas reaches down to firmly grip his hip and rolls them both over, leaving Dean straddling Cas’s hips, wide-eyed and breathless. Cas just laughs and squeezes his hips, one eyebrow quirking in a tiny tease. “You looked so beautiful in my lap earlier, how could I resist asking you to ride my cock like this?”

And yeah, okay. That’s definitely something he can do. Dean bites down on his bottom lip in concentration, splaying one hand out on Cas’s chest for balance as he sits up properly and reaches behind him. Cas makes a soft sound when Dean’s fingers grip his slick length, but it’s nothing compared to the deep, rumbling moan that resonates from his chest when Dean guides Cas’s cock to his loose, open hole and begins to sink down on it.

Cas’s fingers grip Dean’s hips tight enough to leave bruises as Dean slowly lowers himself down, and his wide blue gaze is fixed on Dean like he couldn’t possibly look away even if he wanted to. It’s a powerful feeling, and they both groan in unison when Dean seats himself fully. Cas is thick and long and fills him up just right – Dean can’t resist grinding his hips in a small circle, testing the waters. Castiel nearly chokes on his own tongue, his lashes fluttering for a second as he tries to control himself.

“What, too much for you?” Dean teases, rocking his hips in a slow, shallow grind and biting back a gasp at the sensations that spark through him. “Having second thoughts about asking me to ride you like a cowboy?”

The reference to his earlier dance has Cas clenching his jaw, and when he speaks, his voice wavers finely with the force of his control. “Not at all,” he growls, and the spark in those blue eyes should have been warning enough that the teasing was over.

If Dean didn’t get the message then, he definitely gets it when Cas’s hands lift him by the hips. Castiel’s cock slides out of him by an inch, and then he’s being slammed back down, and Dean would have marveled at the strength of those tanned arms had he not been too busy moaning at the stretch of the thick cock inside him. Cas grins, bright and breathless, as though he knows he’s caught Dean by surprise, and there’s no way that Dean can resist retaliating.

His thighs flex as he lifts himself and then drops back down on the length inside him, fucking himself on Cas’s thick cock. Dean manages to take Cas by surprise for a few seconds – his grip loosens on Dean’s hips and a shocked moan falls from his lips – but as soon as he gets with the program, Cas gives as good as he gets. It’s just a dirty grind until Cas gets his feet planted on the mattress, and once he gets that leverage to fuck up into Dean, it’s all he can do to meet Cas’s thrusts and not simply be swept along for the ride.

Dean has seen glimpses of this wild-haired sex god throughout the night, but he’d never known just how good Cas would be in bed, just how hot the man would look with sweat beading on his brow and muscles flexing as he fucked up into Dean, hands pulling his hips down to meet every heard thrust. There’s a wicked gleam in Castiel’s eyes, and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk as he changes the angle of his thrusts just slightly. The head of his cock slides over Dean’s prostate, and Dean swears he sees stars.

“Fuck, Cas, so close,” he groans out, and Castiel swears as he watches Dean drop a hand to his flushed, weeping cock. Dean would grin, would tease him about it, but he’s too far lost in his own pleasure to even think about anything but the movement of his hand over his own cock and the arousal that sears through his veins along with his impending orgasm.

One of Cas’s hands lets go of his hip and wraps around Dean’s fingers; when he glances up, Cas is watching him with that piercing blue gaze that feels as though it’s peering into his soul.

“Come for me, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean is powerless to resist. He gives a choked out gasp and folds forwards, catching himself with his hand on Castiel’s chest as he paints their abdomens with streaks of white. Thankfully, Cas’s thrusts have slowed to a shallow grind as Dean rides out his orgasm; when he slumps, boneless and fucked out, Castiel is quick to catch him in strong arms and carefully rolls them over so that Dean is spread out on his back once again.

A warm, calloused hand cups his face, and soft lips press against his own. “I’ve got you,” Cas whispers against Dean’s mouth, his thrusts slow and steady as he chases his own pleasure. Dean can only whimper and hook his legs around Cas’s hips, tangling one hand into the man’s hair and kissing him again. Cas comes not long after, his groan muffled against Dean’s mouth and his hand shaking where it cups Dean’s face.

For several long minutes, they simply lie there, entangled and catching their breath in the heavy, warm silence that follows. Eventually, Cas shifts, pressing a kiss to Dean’s jaw before sitting up a little further and easing out of Dean. They both pull a face at the sensation, and Dean can’t help but grin up at Cas as he carefully removes the condom, ties it off and slingshots it into Dean’s wastepaper basket. The tissues Dean uses to clean them both up don’t make it into the basket so neatly, but he really couldn’t give a fuck right now.

“I wish all my shifts ended like that,” he jokes as he flops back down onto the bed. Cas pins him with an amused look as he rolls onto his side to face Dean. “It was very enjoyable,” he agrees, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair and leaving it sticking up in every direction. It’s sexy and adorable; made even more so adorable by the fact that Cas’s eyelids are slowly drooping.

“I would not be averse to doing this again, sometime, though perhaps properly,” Cas continues, nuzzling his head into the pillow and sighing. “Take our time with things. Go out to dinner beforehand.”

The suggestion has Dean’s heart flip-flopping in his chest, and he smiles at Cas, who’s looking more and more comfortable where he’s curled up with his head resting against the pillow. Usually, Dean’s one night stands would just leave, but since this may not be a one night stand, he doesn’t want to kick Cas out. Wouldn’t want to even if Cas hadn’t suggested a proper date, if he’s honest with himself.

But the man is quickly falling asleep, and Dean can feel himself following suit, so instead of asking about Cas’s suggestion like he wants to, he just pulls the covers up over both of them. Cas smiles, slow and happy, and his blue eyes are slivers in the dim moonlight. Dean could never ask him to leave.

“Night, Cas,” he whispers, blinking leaden eyelids against the pull of sleep and, slowly but surely, losing.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel whispers back.

Dean falls asleep sated and warm and comfortable, with Castiel a warm, comforting presence in the bed beside him.

~

When Dean stirs awake many hours later, it’s not with a rested mind, but with the crease of a frown between his brows. The early morning sunlight filtering past his blinds is enough evidence of it being far too early in the morning to be awake, but he rolls over to check his alarm clock anyway.

The bed beside him is empty, the covers neatly flattened out in Castiel’s absence. The man himself is standing on the other side of the bed, his eyes wide and slacks pulled halfway up one leg.

He’s leaving?

Dean can’t help the slight pang of hurt in his chest. Even though they barely know each other, he’d thought that Cas’s promise of a repeat and even a date would actually… mean something. It must show in his face, because Cas hurries to properly pull on his slacks, then sits on the edge of the bed. “Dean, I—“

Dean is quick to cut him off. “Those things you said yesterday… did you really mean them?” If he hadn’t… he doesn’t know why the idea that Cas lied is hurting him so much, but it is.

Instead of looking guilty, though, Cas just smiles. “Of course I did, Dean. I would love to go on a date with you some time and do all this properly. But right now, I have to get home so that I can clean myself up and go to work. Is that okay?”

Cas looks soft and rumpled in the early morning light, his hair still sticking up wildly. Instead of giving a verbal answer, Dean can’t help but sit up in bed and slide over to Cas, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmurs as he pulls back, the corner of his lips ticking up in a smile. “That’s okay.”

Castiel leaves a little later than he’d planned to, after Dean had waylaid his attempts to dress with kisses and numerous invitations back to bed. Eventually (once he has Cas’s number), Dean lets him go, kissing him one last time over the threshold of his apartment before closing the door with a giddy smile.

He’s never loved his new job as much as he does right now.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, leave a comment or a kudos!
> 
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